first class

He settled into his first-seat and the woman next to him, a stranger, turned to him and said, in a low, somewhat raspy voice, “Would you like to have sex with me?” and he was at first stunned, then only speechless, then rather suspicious, then simply confused, and, finally, interested. “I’ve done this before,” she said, adding, “I have the protection, if you don’t,” and he sat back for a moment and wondered if he was dreaming, because she was very attractive and much younger, and he thought, “Why not? Still … wait,” though he didn’t say it, exactly. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “and that’s part of your problem – you think way too much,” and he wondered, again, how she knew him so well, and in the quiet she said, “We must, of course, wait until take-off and the fasten-seatbelt light is extinguished,” and they did. When he returned to his seat, he didn’t know what to say or what to think. Maybe he was in love. He was, of course, a guy. His name was Edwin. He was a corn feed salesman from Wichita. At home they called him Louie. She was a kindergarten teacher from Lubbock. Her students called her Miss Swanson.